Peeping Tom
by Hecation
Summary: Tom Riddle has an obsession. That obsession is Harry flipping Potter, his neighbor. He enjoys - obsesses over - Harry's daily tasks, but when the same man brings a stranger into his arms... well, that can't do. SLASH! of the Tom Riddle and Harry Potter kind.


Summary: Tom Riddle has an obsession specifically for Harry Potter, his neighbor. He enjoys - obsesses over - Harry's daily tasks, but when the same man brings a stranger into his arms… well, that can't do.

This is gonna be a fluff-aganza so… yeah.

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN HARRY POTTER IN ALL ITS FACETS! None of it. I'm just a broke college student wanting to throw myself in front of a bus.

Warning: OOC!Characters because… well, it doesn't fit in my story :P, SLASH!, author-kind of humor, and unbeta'd (so all mistakes are mine :D)

Pairings: Tom/Harry

 **Chapter 1: Obsession**

" _Without obsession, life is nothing." ~ John Waters_

"Good morning Tom."

It always happens in a cycle. Harry would settle on his porch, perched perfectly against a rocking chair while nursing a cup of tea. Tom noticed how the younger man enjoys the sunrise every early morning, a smile plastered on his seeming porcelain, perfect face as the sun beamed against his strikingly pale skin. Although it was a rare occurrence in Britain, Tom finds himself enraptured with Harry's ethereal features soaking in the heat of the sun. Afterward, Harry would wave at him with a smile, then walk towards his front door and close it shut.

It always happened in that order. And it did happen, in that same order.

 _Nothing could break this cycle, never,_ Tom thought to himself maliciously.

By the time Harry hobbled into his humble cottage, Tom would unabashedly peep through his own window. Fortunately for him, Harry's windows were wide and clean, so it made Tom's stalkerish tendencies easier. A handsome smile graced Tom's thin lips, watching the nymph simply enjoy the classical music - Beethoven symphony nine, to be exact - playing through the air, while the elfin nymph cook breakfast. Sometimes, Tom imagined what would life be like with Harry by his side.

But his thoughts were interrupted.

Unfortunately, Tom received a text message from a soulless cur who interrupted his _Harry Watch_. He huffed uncharacteristically and read the message.

 _Boss, we have an issue._

The handsome man closed the curtains he peeped through and texted back, mentally rolling his eyes at his incompetent underlings. He thought to himself of all the things he could do without _killing_ one of them and burning their body in his installed incinerator, but he came to absolutely no conclusions without it ending in violence and gore. He doesn't think Harry, who enjoyed the setting sun as well, would accept blood stains on Tom's suit. Perhaps he would be like anyone who knew him, scared.

And that, in itself, scared Tom.

He doesn't know when his obsession with Harry had come to fruition. He _just_ knew that he was obsessed with the little nymph, who moved in that appalling little cottage adjacent to _his_ mansion. Honestly, he scoffed and rolled his eyes. Until one day, the nymph introduced himself and came with a basket filled with baked muffins. Which, to this day, was the most succulent thing he'd ever tasted in all his luxurious life. From then on Tom was hooked with this little creature named _Harry Potter_.

Shaking his head, Tom ceased his meandering thoughts. He had idiots to punish.

* * *

Tom smiled at Harry's lit house.

Although the cottage still had that distasteful white trimming, Tom was amazed at how the little man settled in; there were lavenders and chrysanthemums growing near the wooden porch, nicely tamed in their small brick fence. He has no real knowledge, nor care, for flower symbology but he did read up on chrysanthemums: Fidelity, longevity, some say loyalty and devotion. Something Tom all but craved for from the younger man, despite the said man oblivious to Tom's admittedly creepy actions.

"Tom? Oh you're home, brilliant!'"

Tom's eyebrows raised at his neighbor's peculiar actions. The younger man popped his head through his wooden, front door with a cute, curious expression before shutting it completely. The next minute, Tom finds himself face-to-face with his obsession carrying a medium-sized tupperware.

Harry smiled brilliantly. "I've got something for you! I've noticed you always come home rather peckish, so I thought you would enjoy some shepherds pie."

For the matter, Tom was uncharacteristically stunned. Never has he ever received such a lovely, homely gift from anyone before, not from any neighbors they had scoured in this affluent neighborhood. Not to mention the dastardly Umbridge who had a penchant for giving Harry a piece of her pink-toad mind for no obvious reason, something Tom had to resolve.

Though as Tom thought about everything happening in front of him, he did not notice Harry's nymph-like face turning solemn. "I know it's not much concerning we are in a neighborhood full of rich people, but I'd thought you would enjoy something home cooked and not delivered…"

Oh, Harry noticed this? Interesting. Tom shook his head, unnoticeable from the little nymph staring up at him with a heartbreaking expression marring his doll-like face. Now that wouldn't do. So Tom curled his lips into a charming smile and laid his hands under the tupperware where he brushed his fingers against Harry's delicate, bird-like digits.

"Thank you, Harry. But, I have to ask. Have you been watching me when I'm never noticing?" Although he was being an obvious hypocrite, Tom noticed the younger man flush persimmon red and splutter slightly, a retort on his full lips.

"N-no! I just-... I notice, every day, that you have someone deliver food to you… so I assumed." Harry muttered something incomprehensible, but Tom thought it was rather cute how Harry squirmed. He wondered how cute Harry would be squirming under _him_. "Here!" Harry held the tupperware higher so it would meet Tom's amused eyes.

Tom didn't really cook for himself. That's an understatement. He can't cook for the life of him, much to his annoyance; the only skill he is not well-versed in, nor care for anyhow. If he wanted food, he would just have take-out. Not like it did anything to his physique, so he did not see the harm in an unhealthy diet.

"Smells divine." He smiled lasciviously.

Tom reveled in Harry's flustered state. Watching him squirm interested Tom very, very much. "Thank you… I baked a lot of it. And you were the first I thought about giving it to before I try to get rid most of it."

Tom felt oddly touched he was the first thing Harry thought about. "I must give you my thanks, again." He charmed, slipping the tupperware from Harry's birdy hands. "Have a good night."

"Uh-uhm… yeah, g-goodnight!"

* * *

Every weekend, Tom watched Harry through his bay window. He knew that he had _issues_ , but he couldn't help the fact Harry looked so goddamn beautiful wrapped in a beautifully knitted, oversized sweater. Absolutely ravishing.

Autumn grew colder, slowly creeping towards the borderline of Winter. Everyone and their mother wrapped themselves in their padded jackets, knitted sweaters, and scarves in order to keep warm. Harry Potter himself bundled his lithe body in a cotton, knitted, oversized cardigan and a pair of skinny jeans stuffed carefully in a pair of boots. He looked absolutely adorable watching the clouds as he ate little table sandwiches from a woven basket, smiling beautifully.

On Saturdays such as these, when the skies are clear over England, Harry would go cloud-gazing and have a picnic in his backyard. His fashion would vary from a white linen top or a regular fitted t-shirt depending on the seasons. Then he walks into his house and brings a hot cup of cocoa in a mug titled " _The hardest part of my job is_ _ **being nice to stupid people**_." Something Tom could relate on a daily basis, but couldn't help but feel amusement coursing through his veins.

But he felt his veins grow cold when Harry walked out with not only his hot chocolate but a man following in tow. The man himself wrapped his disgustingly, muscled arms around Harry's petite waist, pulling him close to his annoying chiseled chest covered by a long-sleeved, collared shirt. Tom felt himself cringe in distaste when the man nuzzled his cheek against Harry's nape, kissing his forehead afterward.

This-this person who dares lay a single calloused hand on _his_ angel broke schedule. He broke the cycle. He interrupted equilibrium and made an imbalance on an invisible scale Tom created when his infatuation with Harry manifested. Tom felt his ire grow when the man pressed a kiss on Harry's button nose.

The cycle was ruined.

That wouldn't do. That wouldn't do at all.


End file.
